


Ode to the Caribbean

by rebonae



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Pirates, Racism, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 13:09:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17162537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebonae/pseuds/rebonae
Summary: A short scene about the birth of Ode, for my upcoming Assassin's Creed IV fic.





	Ode to the Caribbean

**Author's Note:**

> This was created to flex my fingers and give the audience a taste of the nature of this fic. I will be doing my best to honor the horrors faced on the rolling seas, which was not without its share of violence, racism, and death. Memorable and impressionable writing is what I live for. Please read with caution if any of the tags above make you upset.

She gave birth, with only another slave, naked save for the shackles on his wrists and ankles, holding her hand for comfort. 

The man beside her said, in broken English, with a thick Nigerian accent, “it is girl.”

The mother wept with her wailing babe, clutching her to her breast, mumbling an apology in her native language.

“My baby, my baby. I am so sorry, my baby. I will hide you in hopes to keep you safe. I won’t feed you in hopes that you will not suffer as I have as a slave. That you will pass from this cruel world, and find peace elsewhere. I hope you can forgive me, my baby. My sweet baby, Ode.”

The mother pulls her baby from her, and despite the blinding darkness, she imagines what her face looks like as she traces it with her scarred fingers. Cheeks puffy with baby fat, a flat nose, and thick lips coated in a thin layer of blood and membrane.

“She is so beautiful,” the mother whispers. “So beautiful.”

The other slaves began to rouse, grumbling about the noise, and one threatened to alert the quartermaster. Stumbling, sticky and hot, the mother rises with little Ode in her arms, and carries her to the back of the ship. She crouches in the corner, little Ode smothered shakily against her chest, and sends a prayer to Ala Ibo, the goddess of fertility and death, for her daughter to die before the sun rises.

The quartermaster, a tall man with hunched shoulders, scraggly dark hair, and sun wrinkled skin throws open the latch to the slave compartment. He bellows, banging his fist on the wood of the ship, and shoving his lantern in the faces of those sleeping closest to him.

“Up you get, dogs! The captain wants to have a look at you. Pick who he wants for ‘imself, and who he wants to sell.”

One by one, swiftly, each man, woman, and child rise from their wooden bunks. The chains jingle with their movements.

The quartermaster reaches the back of the slave quarters, and upon spotting a curled up form, he stomps over and drives his boot into its side.

“Bloody hell. Don’t tell me one died…”

He stoops down, setting the lantern beside him.

“Captain’ll be bloody pissed he lost ‘stock,” mutters the quartermaster.

Swiftly and violently, he grabs the slave by her hair. she cries out, dropping her baby, and the quartermaster’s eyes light up when he hears little Ode being to cry.

“Hiding a baby, eh?” snarls the quartermaster. His spittle lands on the face of Ode’s mother who is mumbling terribly for her child; cursing Ala Ibo for letting her live.

“Another nigglet for another reale.”

The quartermaster, grunting and spewing insults, pulls Ode’s mother up by her roots and drags her kicking and screaming to the deck of the ship. The quartermaster barks at a deckhand, no older than sixteen, to fetch little ode and bring her up for inspection.


End file.
